Crimson Aching of Displacement

Here’s a poem by Michael Rene Meixner:

Crimson Aching of Displacement

Sometimes I believe
I can’t find home
Because I carry pieces
Of shattered dreams with me
I think I smell of the Mediterranean
But taste of the Atlantic
I feel like burning sands
And my skin’s touch is rough like an iceberg
I burn with the sun of Spain
I play with the charms of a Frenchman
I dance like a West-African
I pray like an Austrian
I’m a bloodstream running through
Two continents alike
I’m the sun setting in the west
I’m the season of rainfall
I’m the first flower that starts to bloom in spring
I’m a wind carried across continents
And a cloud flying over the oceans